


warm water

by powderblew



Series: sunny days and indigo nights [8]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Doctor!Sakura, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Sort Of, Undercover Missions, Underground Mafia, cop!shisui, keep shisui away from the water, prequel to gtwwoaos, shisui centric, well a reunion of some sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24632374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powderblew/pseuds/powderblew
Summary: When all the signs say it's not enough. —Shisui/Sakura
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Shisui
Series: sunny days and indigo nights [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686139
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	warm water

There had been a time, where Shisui believed in God.

There were times where Shisui believed in hope.

Then, there were times where Shisui wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

Shisui, much to everyone’s disbelief, did not like doing undercover assignments. He may be the best in the force, but that doesn’t mean he _likes_ it. He takes his cigarette and rolls it between his pointer and forefinger, before placing it in between his lips. There’s a lighter in his jean jacket, he flicks open the sliver switch and watches an ember flicker from the edge of the opening.

He lights the cigarette, red embers sparks and then he inhales.

Shisui blows the smoke up, the stretch and strength of his neck emphasized with each breath.

In the dark of Tokyo, north of Osaka, there’s a bridge that closes the gap between the Fire District and the Water District. It’s half-broken, abandoned in favor of the newer bridge in the northeast, the one that has an underpass and overpass. There’s something ancient about this bridge, with copper moldings and steel.

There’s a history that people have not bothered to look into; the good ones do at least.

Shisui likes it though, the history.

They say when Hashirama Senju passed here, there had been nothing but fruition, but following east of the bridge led to destruction.

He wonders, with wry amusement, what would happen if he walked down the middle.

The edge of destruction, the edge of fulfillment—that border, where life tilts on the balance of a finely tuned instrument.

It’s riveting, almost.

His phone rings, vibrates in his back pocket.

Shisui sighs and then pulls it out, “What, Itachi?”

“Are you at the bridge?” Itachi cuts to the chase, there is chatter in the background and a few shuffle of papers.

“Yes,” he looks around for a moment, “No one’s here.”

“Should be coming up soon,” he reminds him after a moment and then clicks the screen, “Juugo is a wildcard, but he’s the only way into Orochimaru ring. He has a disassociative personality disorder. Be careful.”

Shisui rolls his eyes, “I know.”

“We also have a medical team on standby, should this get messy,” Itachi adds in and then sighs, “Just don’t be infuriating.”

“I am _never_ infuriating,” he makes an offended noise and the chuckle he releases is dark enough to send a child down his cousin’s spine, “I’m _charming._ ”

“Shisui,” he warns.

Shisui takes another drag, black ink, and indigo splotches color the midnight sky. There are no stars, just the moon that beams white shadows and highlights across the water that is more obsidian than blue. The light from his cigarette illuminates the blunt of his nails and the dark of his sweater, “I’m fine.”

“I wonder,” Itachi exhales dryly, “You have ten minutes to make the drop.”

Shisui ends the call.

The thing is, Shisui hates doing these assignments.

He hates and _hates_ until the paper from his cigarette disintegrates into nothing but ash. Soot. Black, chalky powder that sits underneath his fingernails, marking his fingers in destruction, in poison and swipes the pulse of the wrist in reflex. A mark, a line that blurs the line of reality and the fresh sweep of nicotine that hits his veins.

Shisui hears it before he sees it.

A crack of gravel, southeast, by the bridge, and the sound of chains.

Shisui narrows his eyes from the corridor, the moon beams eerily against the concrete of the ground and he peers from the corner of the wooden box. It’s a freight shipping ground, the area closed off for only company workers and ship crew essential.

Then the fire of Juugo’s hair shines like a beacon underneath the lamppost, the bag heavy behind his left shoulders, he takes a seat on the post right on the bridge, and back against the ocean.

The Uchiha drops his cigarette and crushes the heel of his military-grade boot.

Shisui walks slowly, deliberately. The crunch of pebble and cobblestone alerts Juugo, he can see that from the way his head follows the direction of the sound and he narrows magenta-colored eyes. He thinks, that Orochimaru may have chosen a very indiscreet henchman to do his dirty work for him, with dry amusement.

The moon bounces beams off Shisui’s curly head, hugging the angles of his cheekbones, he gives a smile – what constitutes between a smirk and a grimace is the real issue here – and nods his head at Juugo in greeting.

Cigarette smoke and rough waters.

That’s the tipping point, he thinks.

Juugo’s face twitches when Shisui reaches walking distance, a twitch, followed by a scowl and then a grimace. His hands twitch, the bag over his shoulder moves with each full-bodied flinch and then the mutters start happening.

It’s almost like he’s buffering.

Shisui almost doesn’t know what to do, so when he opens his mouth—

—he stammers, flinches, and falls back.

Shisui stares at where he used to sit for one moment of pure, unadulterated shock.

The loud splash of water jolts his sense awake, Shisui runs right over to the pillar, peers into the black of the water and swears violently. He yanks out his phone and slams one on his speed dial, he barks, “Get the medic team here; he fell in the ocean. He’s having an episode.”

Shisui doesn’t wait to hear a response, he tosses his phone on the ground, shoves off his sweater and shucks off his boots.

He dives.

In hindsight, it was not his _best_ idea.

(yes because diving into a black ocean, with no moon or light, head-first constitutes as _idiotic_ rather than _brilliant—_ )

There is no beginning or end in the ocean of ruins—

—static fizzles and pops when he breaks the water. Shisui has no control over his limbs as he is puppeteer-ed out of the water and stumbles back onto the concrete. Juugo has been fished out of the water – he sees this from his peripheral vision – it takes five medics and an officer to strap him down. The sedate him and pry the bag from his white-knuckled grip.

“—he’s breathing, get me the hot blankets, and wheel him into the backroom,” there’s a voice that calls out for him, fingers on his face as the slap him into awareness.

_Green._

Those are _green eyes._

Mint. Sage. Jade. Emerald. Forest.

Green _green_ green and they pierce threw the heavy fog that clouds his mind and his senses.

He blinks back, fighting the edges of the undertow that will only take him, deep, dark in the nightmares of his haunted mind and the ripples of his consciousness. He grasps onto the vine and pulls himself up.

“—what?” he croaks, coughs, and attempts to sit up.

“Uh, _no,_ you’re not,” those green eyes sharpen into sea-foam and hands push him back onto the stretcher, “You’re about to catch hypothermia and probably a fever from whatever pathogens are in that water. _Lay down._ ”

“I’ve met doctors with much nicer bedside manners,” Shisui’s sarcasm comes out when he feels claustrophobic, but then he blinks again and the features of her face sharpen—like a video feed.

“Do you see a bedroom?” she quirks a brow and puts in her stethoscope.

“Need a bedroom to have manners?” there’s a grin on his face, he thinks, but he can’t feel the cold of the stethoscope on his chest and wonders if that’s a bad thing.

“A little of this,” she says, puts her stethoscope behind her head and scribbles something on a clipboard, “A little of that.”

“That’s such a bad answer,”

“I’m not here for your amusement,”

“Didn’t say you were,” Shisui replies back and sniffs when they close the door to the ambulance, “Is this necessary?”

“You need to be sterilized, that seawater is contaminated with all types of chemicals,” she answers with a sigh and takes a seat next to him, “Diving into dark waters to save another person; I’m not sure if that was stupid or brave.”

He gives her a half-grin, “Both?”

“Reckless,” she doesn’t mince words, “Irresponsible, impulsive, thoughtless,” she presses her lips together when she glances at the scars on his chest, “Courageous.”

Shisui almost smiles, “I do my best.”

“Yeah, well do better,” green-eyes pulls at the bun at the back of her head and wet pink hair – that has now darkened to an almost magenta – wrap around her neck like vines. She winces at the cold water and pulls a blanket over herself, “Last time I pull you out of the ocean.”

He stares at her, “You—”

“—did it,” she shrugs and looks everywhere but at him, “We don’t have much staff tonight and waiting for the next first-responders would’ve taken too much time, plus with that red-head, we had to restrain,” she swipes at the drops of water on her nose, “I just—

“—did it,” Shisui finishes for her, and his eyes twinkle, “Sound familiar?”

She huffs a laugh and then covers the blanket around her tighter, “Well, you got me there, Shisui.”

Shisui blinks at the familiarity and asks dryly, not really expecting an answer, “You know who I am?”

“You don’t remember me?” she stares at him with disbelief, “ _Really?_ I used to visit Sasuke _all the time_ when we were in college.”

Shisui thinks it’s the ocean water, his memory is like a faded polaroid, soft at the edges and filmy at most. He remembers very briefly, a blonde loudmouth and a smaller girl who had the softest—

“—Sakura,” he rolls her name off his tongue like candy, “How can I forget?”

“You just did,”

“I lied,” Shisui huffs.

“Say it again,” Sakura looks at him with those green eyes of hers and they pin him to the stretcher, “And this time, I might believe you.”

Shisui removes an arm from underneath his blanket to swipe a droplet of water hanging from the bottom of her jawline, he pulls back to stare at sea-foam and he gives her a small smile. Charcoal colored orbs glitter under the dim light of the van and he confesses, “You know I can never forget you, Sakura.”

She stares at him with wide jade orbs.

Whether it stems from a lie or not, Sakura finds herself believing him.


End file.
